Note: First 90 percent of the first section was all Cheshire. *hugs her* She's the best ;)
~~C~~
It's been over an hour since the flashing red lights stopped. The ship is no longer rocking, and the stars outside are fixed in place for the first time in a long while.
We're damaged, though. I can feel the shudder in the deck plates beneath my boots. B'Elanna won't sleep for days.
And I have no idea what happened. How it all finished. What lines were ultimately crossed. How many were crossed.
I hear the panel outside my door being accessed, the beeps of a code being entered. It can only be one person. I stand to face her.
The doors slide open. For a moment, she stands framed within them, the light from the damaged corridor behind her flickering slightly, illuminating her as she neither moves forward nor retreats.
I take a few slow steps toward her, make sure she can locate me in the darkness. Stand with my hands draped at the small of my back. I can't tell what remains of the woman I know. I know what happened, what sent me away from her side, but I don't know what's happened since. Is she still anything of the woman I lo–
She moves, brings herself fully into my quarters, her course decided and set, her steps not wavering once set in motion. She stops with only a meter or two between us. Her hands stay at her sides, not on her hips, not behind her back as mine are, but they're controlled. Held rigidly in a deceptively relaxed stance.
"Ransom is dead."
I wanted to hear that. Her voice, that is. Not the statement. My gut clenches in fear, in expectation.
It's a blunt statement that I had already pretty much surmised, however. She wouldn't be here if he wasn't – she wasn't going to stop until he was. I give only the slightest of nods to acknowledge that I did in fact hear her. Her nostrils flare impotently at my silence. She reveals no expression in faint starlight, but the tension in her face gives her away. The clench of her jaw, the tight swallow, as she waits for me to speak. To condemn. To condone. I'm not sure which she expects or even which I have to give.
Her next exhalation of breath is harsher as she accepts that she must speak again, must elaborate. "The Equinox is destroyed. The warp core overloaded."
No doubt after being fired upon relentlessly by a larger ship – like Voyager. I close my eyes briefly and send a prayer up for the lost souls that resided on that ship. They were lost in more ways than simple death offered.
"Captain Ransom sacrificed himself to move his ship away from us," she continues, unexpectedly. "He likely spared us further damage."
That's not what I was expecting to hear. I admit it. I cock my head to the side in silent question. That sounds like he chose to die rather than that she was responsible for killing him.
"In the end…he remembered his principles," she explains briefly and incompletely. "In the end…he was a Starfleet captain."
I let out a shaky breath.
And so will she be. Always. Holding herself rigidly away from me. The dust of her ship still clings to her uniform, and in this instance, physically reminds her of what happens when a captain forgets her principles. How far and how fast she can slide down that slope…and how easily. Ransom lost his ship and his crew. It doesn't matter that the principles he gave up on are not remotely the ones she questions in the dark of night. It will only matter that he stumbled…that she could too. So easily. If she slips for even one second.
How can I possibly combat that?
Damned if I know. But damned if I won't continue to fight against it when I have to, to keep trying.
"Five former members of the Equinox crew are on board," she states, correcting my assumption regarding his crew…at least some of them. "They will not enjoy a free ride home on this ship by sitting in a brig cell. I want them guarded until you deem them safe and then they will still be closely supervised."
No one else would be able to see it the way she wants it done but me. She's nervous. Unsure what my response will be.
"Captain," I say finally, noting oddly that she almost flinches at the title, "does that mean you still want me as your first officer?"
She swallows. Blinks. And in that space of time, I imagine all the possible answers to that question.
Finally, she nods. Her movement saying what her voice won't. Instead she says, "With all your rights and privileges restored therein."
We'll be okay. She's forgiven me. Mostly. I'll have to work on forgiving her. But even in the thick of it, in the scariest moments of watching her threaten Lessing…walking away from her was always too hard to really consider doing. Ever.
"Aye, Captain."
The moment of silence stretches between us until, finally, she turns away. "Tuvok is bringing the Equinox five to the briefing room. It'll be up to you to determine what positions they will fill."
She leaves. I don't even try to stop her; I need the next few moments to myself. I need the quiet to gather my strength, to talk to my spirit guide, if I can sneak it in quickly.
Kathryn is going to need me in the coming days as it fully sinks in to her, what she's done. What she's almost done, and how close she's come. How close we've come. She's going to need me badly. And I can't afford not to be up to the task when we start rebuilding.
But first, I'll need to make quick work of forgiving her for being human. For having failings. And forgiving myself for failing to help her combat them.
It's not going to be easy. I'm not deluded enough to think that it is. I only know that I'm not giving up on her. Not by a long shot. I'm not letting her give up on herself, either.
I'm not letting her give up on us. That would be too easy.
~~J~~
I'm not entirely certain why I'm even standing here listening to this insane conspiracy theory of hers – aside from the fact that I'm sealed into Astrometrics with her – but that's the least of my worries at the moment.
No. What gets me is that Seven almost has me. I shove the niggling doubts firmly back inside of me, rally my forces and tell her the truth.
"I'd be willing to consider this theory of yours if I didn't know Chakotay as well as I do." But I do know him, Seven. Better than you can imagine. "There is no one on this ship I trust more." That's been true for years now. "What you've done here is build what we call a house of cards."
And then she leads with what could be the one thing she could question that would make me stop and listen despite my determination not to.
The truth of his feelings for me. The depth of his commitment. Or possible lack thereof.
"Stardate 48658," she opens angrily, obsessively, and damn her…near believably. "Commander Seska is revealed to be a Cardassian spy. She defects to the Kazon and impregnates herself with Chakotay's DNA. Was he unaware of the procedure, as he claims, or were they working together, to create a new Kazon sect to capture Voyager?"
Somehow, some way, the first question she unravels is the one to hit me hardest. My God, the mere idea of that being true…
She has me before I know it, keeps pelting me with scenarios that are simply too plausible for me to ignore. Not when this ship's security is at stake, and it would be if even one of these scenarios is something close to the truth.
"Stardate 49522. Chakotay recommends establishing trade relations with the Kolhari. Their technology uses tetryon power cells. A simple diplomatic overture or was he seeking a source of energy for the catapult? Stardate 49571…"
Later, I'm so ashamed of myself that it's hard not to flush at him across the dinner table. It was bad enough almost losing Seven to the delusions of her own mind. But almost losing him, the trust and faith that I have in him too…
"I heard the strangest rumor today. Apparently, the captain and first officer almost came to blows." Maybe not of the physical kind…
He follows my forced levity with some of his own. "Mutiny?"
No. I just thought so. "First officer walked the plank." I shrug, bringing the casserole over from the replicator. "So I heard."
He chuckles. "I don't believe a word of it." I'm sorry, Kathryn. I'm ashamed of myself too.
"Me neither." So am I.
He sobers. "Seven was malfunctioning. We don't have that excuse."
"You're right. We've been through too much to stop trusting each other." More than anyone else on this ship will ever know.
It would be easy to take this deeper – to get into things we really shouldn't get into. But that's as close as we can come to any serious discussion. As usual, we hold two conversations in one; the verbal, safe conversation, and the real one with our eyes.
"You didn't poison the coffee did you?" Are you going to hold it against me?
"Not any more than I usually do." No. Of course not. I'm just as guilty this time.
We laugh together. It's a slightly more hollow sound than it should be, yet all in all, we seem to be okay.
But I worry at how easily we were pulled into Seven's web of conspiracy theories. It wasn't just one of us. I wonder whether or not we're drifting further apart than we realize, without us having noticed it. If Seven had come to us even a year ago, she wouldn't have stood a chance at convincing either of us to go along with her paranoia.
It bothers me. If Chakotay and I had been the unshakable team that we're supposed to be, we'd have realized there was something very wrong with Seven before she had a chance to leave the ship and put herself in danger. If we can't trust each other, completely, the ship will only continue to suffer. We came so close to doing irreparable damage today.
I retire for the evening after bidding him a subdued good night, exchanging his company for a long, hot bath. I feel a bit better after the indulgence, and when I amble tiredly back into my living room, on my way to the replicator for one last cup of coffee before grabbing the poetry book I last had time to open about three weeks ago, something catches my eye in the dim lighting. There. On the coffee table, beside the untouched book. Something's sitting there. Something I hadn't noticed before.
I walk slowly over to it, cocking my head slightly in confusion. Until I make out the shape. The texture of the material, the misshapen outline. And grin.
It's the worst parody of a peace rose carved out of wood I think I've ever seen. Well…in fairness…it's the only one I've ever seen, strictly speaking. Still, it's bad. The petals all meld together, the leaves curl awkwardly, looking sickly and anemic, and the stem is more warped than a bud that size would be supported by. That I know what it is at all, what it's supposed to be, is probably due only to how well I know Chakotay. Which, knowing him, might have been his point in the first place when having the questionable judgment to even attempt this project.
It's horrible. An insult to roses.
It's beautiful, and it means everything.
My eyes dart to the door as if he'll still be standing there, but of course he's long in bed. I almost hope he sees my delighted smile through all the bulkheads between us nonetheless.
Sleep, with a badly-made carving sitting on the bed table beside me, is easier than I'd thought it would be.
~~JC~~